The Beginnings, Endings, and Inbetweens of Suicide Squad
by EtherealBrook
Summary: I enjoyed the Suicide Squad movie, but I wasn't satisfied with it. So I scrapped the plot (and probably some of cannon) and am doing my own thing with the characters and general idea. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

Amanda Waller strood into the board meeting like England into the new world. Her every pore exuded confidence. This meeting was hers to own, and she knew it. No one would object. They couldn't object. She was the most powerful person in the room.

Not waiting for formalities, she cleared her throat. This was the moment. Tone was everything. She had to be casual, but not cocky. People fight back against the cocky. People hate being controlled by the cocky. "I need clearance for a new special ops team. Of criminal metahumans." She tossed the words out perfectly, as if they were a request for coffee.

Just as soon as the words left her mouth, her gaze flew over each face, assessing their reactions. Much to her (concealed) satisfaction, she saw absolute shock. If they were shocked, they weren't thinking about _why_ she wanted this team. Their minds would be focused on something much less important, like morals or money. If no one said anything for six more seconds, she could say another line that would force them to give her the team. If they would just stay shocked for another…

An official rose unsteadily. "Amanda-" she glared at him, "s-sorry, Agent Waller. You must know that this is qu-quite unusual and unprecedented, and so an entirely n-n-new set of regulations would have to be drawn up, and we can't b-begin to anticipate-"

Inwardly, she smiled. The stuttering fool was rambling. No one would listen to his argument. "It's for Project Artemis," she cut in. "Top level classified. I had to go through twenty layers of red tape just to let you hear that name. In fact, I believe you are the only one in here who hasn't heard of Project Artemis. Strange, that they would put _you_ on this board." Flawless improvisation on her part. It reminded him of her rank, communicated the importance of her demand, and undermined his authority with just a hint of warning.

The official didn't persist. He sank back into his chair in defeat. Slowly, she made eye contact with every person in the room. One by one they dropped their gazes.  
Triumph filled her. "I have the papers right here for you to sign."


	2. Chapter One

Bored. Bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored. She was so bored. So very bored that she had taken to clawing the word 'bored' over and over again, into the concrete floor. Halfway through her hands had begun to bleed. Her blood leaked on to the floor, and into the scratches she was making. Ignoring the pain, she pressed on. Now the entire floor was covered in 'bored's of varying sizes.

Harley Quinn rolled over and went back to sleep.

* * *

Exhausted. He was worn out. Ever since he had been transferred to a cell with a punching bag (to keep him from punching the concrete walls), he had done nothing but attack it,

eat, and sleep. Every morning, he woke up and started punching. He bombarded the bag like it was the one who had taken his daughter from him. He knew that one day an opportunity for escape would present itself. Until that day, he would prepare. A guard slipped a tray through a slot in the door. A brown banana, a lump of meat. Moments later, a bottle of water. The prisoner gulped down the food.

Deadshot returned to punching.

* * *

Pacified. The tranquility surrounded him. It used to be the flame, but now the calm engulfed him. He had overcome his past and made peace with the present. Yes, he would live the rest of his life in prison, but that was fine. It was probably for the better anyway. Even after all the anger management, he didn't trust himself not to throw it all away in an instant.

El Diablo inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again.

* * *

Fearful. She was scared for her life. It was the kind of deep fear that makes you wonder if death would be easier. Ever since the Enchantress had possessed her, she had been terrified. No matter what the government claimed, she knew they couldn't control what was inside her. It was much too powerful. But maybe, hopefully, if she died, then the spirit might die too. It was the most comforting thought she'd had in the last week. It was possible there could be an archeology accident soon.

Lowering her head, June Moone returned to the report of her latest expedition.

* * *

Annoyed. This was more of an inconvenience than anything. The instant he got the chance, he was breaking out of here. He could practically taste the wealth that was just waiting for him to come take it. And take it he would, just as soon as he _got out of this cell._

Captain Boomerang kicked the door.

* * *

Restless. Shifting back and forth. Impatience. Jittery. Uneasy. A thousand words could be used to explain his current state. A thousand words would not be enough to explain how on edge he was. Small cells and big people don't mix. Not to mention the taste of air. It was never quite natural. He was dying to get out of this place that was always damp but never wet.

Killer Croc needed to swim.

* * *

Hate. It keep her fighting for good, an irony she did not have time to appreciate. The swordswoman loathed every criminal. Assassins especially. Ever since her beloved husband had been murdered, one goal ran through her mind. Shape the world into a place where he wouldn't have been killed. She would make the world better for the children she never had.

Katana would answer the call.


	3. Chapter Two

The entire incident must have been a hallucination. The marks she had made were gone, so they had never existed in the first place, Harley reasoned. Flawless logic. Or, it would have been. But when one is drawing logical conclusions, it is useful to have all the information. And, when coming to her logical conclusion, she was missing a key piece. That very significant piece can be summarized in one word.

Bandages. For indeed when Harley looked down, that was what she saw, covering her fingers. In the same way a hawk dives for it's prey, her eyes shot to the crook of her elbow. A grin formed on her face. She reached for her left shoulder and began patting.

 _There._ Another sterilized bandage. Harley fell onto her back and started giggling. Today was a marvelous day. She been moved to a new cell, shot with a tranquilizer dart, and received medical attention. Simply marvelous.

If anyone was watching her live security feed, what they saw was strange. Renown criminal Harley Quinn, the former Harleen Quinzel, lying on the ground, laughing her head off. Laughing, that is, until she started screaming.

It was a high-pitched scream, but deep enough not to be a shriek. The twisted sound filled the air, winding its way around the bars containing her, propelling itself beyond the walls isolating her. Throughout the building, her cry was heard and acted upon. Every spare authority rushed in her direction, every prisoner bolted to the front of their concrete prison. This was something _new_ ; this was something _exciting_.

Screaming madly was not the only thing Harley did. She had jolted to her feet and was staggering uncontrollably around her cell, slamming into the bars, and swatting an invisible monster away. Whatever it might have been backed her into a corner, where she cowered, arms over her head, crouched. The screams turned to whimpers, and Harley Quinn froze.

Her face shifted. Where before she had looked petrified, she now looked furious. Steadily, she pushed herself to her feet. Her glare pierced the empty space before her.

The crash of a door being thrown open. Guards in uniforms. Weapons, pointed at her. She paid them no mind.

The guards were used to insane prisoners, hallucinations and such, but they hadn't seen the kind of crazy that Harley Quinn possessed. "Leave me _alone_ , Batman," she snarled, venom in her voice, "If you don't, I will make you pay."

She raised a fist and threw it into the space in front of her with all the force she had. The momentum of the punch sent her tumbling forward, but she popped back up and kept pummelling the air. Finally satisfied, she gave the ground a final kick. "That'll show _you_ ," her eyes fixed on the ground. "Don't mess with Gotham's Queen. I'm leaving now. Don't let me see you again." She turned, and walked straight into the bars of her cell. She shook herself off and looked up to see the guards.

"Do you need something, darlin's?" she asked brightly.

The guards exchanged glances, unsure. One of them (probably a new kid trying to show off) stepped forward, aiming his gun. Harley showed no alarm, she recognized it as a tranquilizer. It couldn't kill her. As he pulled the trigger, she twirled out of the dart's reach. The projectile tangled itself in her hair. Moments later there was a clatter of metal on concrete as something fell to the ground.

Except that her hair was clearly not enough to stop it. Everyone in the room saw Harley's eyes go wide with shock. Everyone saw her limp body fall to the floor. Everyone saw her breathing steady.

What they didn't see was far more consequential. They didn't see the dart still buried in her hair. The bobby pin that had fallen out and clattered to the ground. Her foot twitching ever so slightly. Her hand, subtly creeping to a ring of keys. They didn't even see the keys, disappearing up her sleeve.

They didn't see she was still awake, and very much conscious.


	4. Chapter Three

Harley felt her body being lifted onto a gurney and fought to keep it limp. Every instinct screeched at her to fight back. it was encoded in her humanity. Or all remaining pieces. The primal parts of her brain wanted her to attack. The parts that had gotten her straight A's knew it was better to wait. They also reminded her to notice the route, in case she ever needed it. Maybe one day, she would return, and blow this place to bits. That would be entertaining.

The gurney ceased moving. People spoke into walkie talkies. A door rattled as it was raised. The bed continued on. She felt the rush on her skin a tick before she new what it was.

Air.

Fresh air.

The first she remembered tasting in months.

Heaven.

The susurrus of wind spoke about days, lost in time, spent running through a meadow, wandering the woods, observing the comings of birds and squirrels, the beautiful sunsets that you can only witness alone, the mysteries of the ocean.

And then

Her piece

Of paradise

Was stolen.

She was loaded into the back of a van; the doors slammed, shutting out the complex promises made by simple breezes. The distress coursing through her was so powerful, she almost tried to break the doors down. She wanted to; it was her most desperate desire. Rather, she remained still, knowing another person was with her. She couldn't make her move yet.

* * *

Ten minutes flew by. The only sounds were the thudding of the van on a dirt road, and the happy noises made whenever her guard beat a level on his phone game. Until, right on the dot, the faint crackle of a radio from the other compartment. A voice, requesting an update. A different person answered. Another agonizing ten minutes later, the sequence repeated.

Ten minutes. That was all the time she got in the car. After that, it was a foot race. A good, old fashioned, manhunt. She hadn't been in one of those in years. They were always exciting. You could never quite tell if you were going to escape or not.

An eternity passed. The radio hissed, someone responded, and silence returned. She reached up, untangling the dart from her hair, and jabbed it in her guards calf before he could beat the next level. Her hands went straight to his gun; she could feel the cold metal calling her, begging her to warm it with a bullet. "Soon," she whispered , "soon."

Quietly, she slipped open the door that separated her from the drivers. She raise the gun to her right, pulled the trigger, twisted, turned the gun on the driver, and repeated. He couldn't even get a hand on the radio before he was dead.

Harley shoved his body unceremoniously on top of the passenger, and slide into the driver's seat. After flooring the gas pedal, she rolled down the all the windows, drinking in the air. The music volume was increased until it was loud enough to be heard from twenty miles away. It pumped adrenaline through her veins faster than anything, any massacre could.

The recent prison escapee stuck her head out the window and screamed in joy. The world beyond beckoned.

As an afterthought, she pointed the gun behind her and shot the unconscious guard.


End file.
